Fighting for Freedom: The 224th Hunger Games
by hp0123
Summary: The rebellion failed. Katniss, Peeta, Prim, and everyone else that you have come to know and love is dead. District 13 has been added to the reaping pool, and the Gamemakers are constantly trying to add little twists with the arena. They've come up with a good one this year, that's all I'm saying. Please R&R! :)
1. Reapings: District One

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am terrible at writing human interactions, so hopefully things will pick up when the actual games start. Thanks again for all the awesome tributes I got, and...**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Hunger Games series or any ideas associated with it. Basically I am not Suzanne Collins, nor will I ever be nearly that awesome.**

**I will try to update as often as I can in case people actually read this.**

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D1 Lance Oliphant POV:

Sweat pours down my back. My entire body aches and groans in protest but I just push harder. Soon enough, there is nothing left to attack. My enemies' tattered remains litter the ground. Of course, these are nothing but training dummies, but when my Games come, they'll all look the same. I kill dummies and targets day after day, but I know the real fun only starts when the gong sounds. Every year I watch with growing jealousy, and I just can't stand it anymore. Dad wants me to wait another year, until I'm eighteen, but I don't care what he says. I don't care what anyone says. I am an Oliphant, and this year is my year.

I stop at home to shower and get cleaned up for what I call the "Volunteering." There's really no point in calling it a reaping; most people volunteer before the name is even called. But that's how it is in One. As I let the hot water wash over me, I think of the best way to volunteer, the fun I'll have in the Games, and what I'll do when I win. Maybe I'll keep going to school just to see people's reactions when I walk past them in the hallways. Oh, life can be sweet.

I run a comb through my hair once, eh, twice, just to keep it from going too crazy. It's really kind of stupid, not a single girl can get enough of me even if I've just rolled out of bed. Like I said before, life can be pretty sweet. Especially if you're me. I'm just fastening the last button on my gold Reaping tux when my sister walks in for another bragging session.

"Save it, Katelyn. I am sick and tired of you rambling on about how great your Games were. Just shut up for once, okay?" I spit. She grins, shakes her head and walks out of the room. Typical bratty sister.

It's already crowded when I finally head down to the square. I swagger over to the sign-in table, ignoring the staring. I don't even feel anything when they prick my finger for the blood ID. I smirk inwardly. When I pass my dad, he says, "Remember, you're not ready yet." I nod, and go to join my age group. 17 year old guys. I see people chattering, bets no doubt being made. I feel confident some are betting on me. After all, every other member in my family was a Victor, and a volunteer tribute.

I clear my throat and pretty much every person who knows me moves out of the way. Every now and then, I come across some stupid kid standing in the middle of my walkway. The first time it happened, I picked him up and threw him into the crowd, but now I'm just kinda pushing them to the side. I finally make it to the seventeens, and everyone clears a space for me where I stand, arms crossed, simply begging the inferiors to come and talk to me.

Our escort, a lady named Domitia Redpath, races through the Treaty of Treason. Even she is antsy to get on with it, we are always favorites for Victor. This year will be no different, with a tribute like me. They'd be stupid not to bet on me.

"And now," she pauses for dramatic effect, "we will determine the male tribute to compete in the 224th Annual Hunger Games!" She speedwalks over to the clear glass bowl containing hundreds of tiny slips of paper, but before she even gets there, I decide it's time to make my move.

"I VOLUNTEER!" I boom, loud enough for everyone in the district to hear. Taking great satisfaction with the look of pure shock on Dad's face, I stride up to the stage and give a cocky smile. "I'm Lance Oliphant, and I'll see you guys in a month."

I laugh when I see the money start changing hands.

D1 Alia Wincrest POV:

It's reaping day. I check my reflection in the old battered mirror in the corner of my sister and I's own personal alleyway. We have a home to come back to, of course. Right there in Victor's Village. Ugh, I hate that place. That's where Amika and I's "parents" live. Truth is, they were Victors in their Games, and the Capitol expects Victors' children to be perfect. I'm just not that kind of girl, and neither is Amika. They never had time for us, anyway, so why would we stay? We hunt; we stay out of the peacekeepers' way. A lot of the time, I think our lifestyle prepares us even more than the academy for the Games. I'm pretty hard core nowadays. Anyway, back to preparations. My hair is the thing I like most about myself. Brown with dark red streaks in it. I don't know, maybe my parents did some weird chemical thing when I was born, but I don't care. I separate it into two chunks and braid it. It helps me to look almost like a child. My reaping dress has been the same since I was eligible, three years ago. A glittery turquoise and silver thing that I swiped from my parents when we took off.

Once Amika has finished getting ready, I take her hand and lead her down to the square. This is her first eligible reaping, so she's pretty freaked out. Not that she has anything to worry about. Someone's gonna volunteer. This is One. I'm not even worried. I feel certain Amika knows all of this, but she's shaking so much the tremors are travelling up my arm.

"Amika, you are going to be FINE. They never even get to the actual drawings in this district."

"I know, but I'm still scared. There have been years where no one volunteers."

"But this year won't be one. You have to trust me on this, okay?"

"Okay..."

"Good." I kiss her on the cheek, hug her, and lead her over to the sign-in table.

We sign in, and separate into our age groups. Amika goes to join the other 12 year old girls. I look away, my heart continuing at its normal pace, slow and steady. I'm just beginning to think what sort of tributes we'll have this year when our escort arrives.

Even for Domitia Redpath, the Treaty of Treason goes by quickly. But before she even makes it to the bowl, a guy volunteers at the top of his lungs. Some people are just too eager. The boy seems vaguely familiar, like someone I knew when I was very small. His sandy blonde hair ripples in the wind, and I hate myself for noticing how attractive he looks. Blasted puberty. Shaken up, Domitia begins to step towards the girls' bowl. Not that I'm concerned. Ha, as if.

"Alia Wincrest!"

Oh well, no sweat. Someone will volunteer. They always do.

"Okay, guys! I'm waiting!" I shout. "I don't have time for this, just volunteer and get it over with!" It's true, I don't. Hunting takes much longer than it would seem. Minutes pass. They stretch on, and on. I begin to shake.

Amika is twelve years old, and I am being forced to leave her. Our parents are estranged, and I'm leaving her. She'll be fine while I'm still alive, fighting. She's the girl I raised her to be. Tough and determined. But what if I die? What if I die in these Games? Amika will break down. She'll be sent back to live with those people. Be forced to call them "Mom and Dad." What if the worst happens?

No. That will not happen, I will not let that happen. I am going to go into these Games, and I am going to win. I will kill every single person in that arena, rip their bodies apart with my bare hands if I have to. I will keep fighting, for Amika. And I _will_ come back.

I jog up to the stage, my heart set now. I am going to win. For her.

I tug the microphone out of Barbie's manicured hand.

"I'm Alia Wincrest, and I'll come back for you, Amika."

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**How did you like the District One tributes? More to come shortly, hopefully. Please R&R!**


	2. Reapings: District Two

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm so sorry that I'm lazy... I promise I'll try to update way more often.**

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D2 Titus Greenlaw POV:

I can hear him breathe, quick, shallow and uneven as he runs. I don't know how he lasted this long. He comes from an outlying district, 10, whereas I, being from 2, have a superior training regimen to produce maximum prowess in those fields most needed for the Hunger Games. I can run far faster and farther than he can. I can use a weapon far more effectively than he can, and I can certainly kill more effectively than he. So why does he even think he has a chance?

I am close enough to him now to breathe on his neck. His pace quickens but it is with the lousy technique that comes with fatigue, with pushing your aching body far too hard. I'm just toying with him now and he must know it. I could run another mile at this pace. I could easily kill him, right here, right now. But where's the fun in that?

I wait patiently while at the same time watching carefully for any sign of sloppiness. Then, I see it. His footfalls are becoming less even, less delicate. He's bound to trip. And that is when the initial stages of a plan begin to hatch themselves in my brain. It's a television show. And television shows are meant to entertain.

After a few tedious minutes, he finally and inevitably stumbles, but by this time I'm very quiet. He cannot hear me. He looks around, stands up and leans on a tree trunk to catch his breath. I let him get good and rested before he feels the icy cold point of my spear on the small of his back.

I grin with malice. This never gets old.

I treasure every tremor that runs through his body. I savor every time he quakes with fear. Because scrawny little wimps like him do not deserve to make it this far in the Games. I had expected more of a fight for the _final kill_.

He chokes out one word:_ "Please."_

I laugh and thrust the spear through his body.

_BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!_

Huh. That's weird. The other cannons didn't sound like that…

_BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!_

"GET UP YOU LAZY BUTT, YOU'LL MISS THE REAPING!"

I reluctantly sit up and attempt to rub the sleep from my tired eyes. I've been having dreams like that increasingly as the Reaping drew closer, more and more vivid each time.

I groggily make my way through the door and into the kitchen and am halfway through my bowl of cereal when my mom comes in and starts brushing my hair. I swat her hand away.

"It's my rugged Victor look," I say.

My reaping clothes are the same as last year's. I lay out the dark blue collared shirt, khakis and kind of nice shoes. It's not like we have to get all fancy.

When I'm dressed and ready, my mom and I head out the door. It's been lonely for her since Dad was killed. She used to be quite talkative; she always had something to say. Now as I walk side by side with her, she doesn't say a word.

I suppose if I knew anybody I could try to help her reconnect with society. But training leaves pretty much no time for me to make friends or really have that much of a social life.

We split up, and I take my place in line behind the other eligible kids. I glare at them and they part like the Red Sea.

The prick on my finger is all but nonexistent and I walk over to the roped off area for eighteen year old males.

The Treaty of Treason is read, as always, and our escort, Eustacia Rollo, with her annoyingly chipper voice takes back the microphone. "And now, it's time to decide our Tributes for the 224th Annual Hunger Games!"

I tense. Should I wait for the name to be called, or just jump right in?

"Our male tribute from District Two is-"

"I volunteer!" I clamber up to the steps and beam confidently at the cheering crowd.

D2 Kylee Grayson POV:

My knives are under my pillow when I sleep. They are tucked safely into my belt when I'm awake. Period. If I am without my knives, I am without protection and that is one of the few things that really scare me. Plus, you can't kill people without a weapon.

I wake bright and early on the day of the Reaping. Changing out of my fluffy bunny pajamas, I pull the two long, slender blades out from under the cushioning and slide them into the belt of my Reaping outfit. I brush my hair and walk down the stairs to the kitchen.

My family is waiting for me when I get there. Ugh, wonderful. I pour myself a glass of orange juice and sit down. Minutes pass.

"WHY ARE YOU PEOPLE STARING AT ME?"

My dad shrugs and munches on his toast. My mom goes back into the kitchen to spy on the neighbors through our kitchen window. My little brother bends his spoon back and flings baby food onto my face, giggling. Now, normally I would turn into a raging lunatic (ha, like I'm not already one) if that happened, but today I am determined to let nothing bother me. I merely shove down my frustration, take a napkin and wipe my face.

As usual, we eat in silence. When I finish, I get up and walk back up the stairs to brush my teeth and do some stretches before the Reaping.

If I wasn't already awake, the minty taste of toothpaste snaps me to my senses. I gargle water and glance at my face in the mirror. Gotta look good for the cameras!

I walk back to my room, spread my feet apart and slowly reach my hands towards my right foot. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. I let the seconds slip away as the calmness of the moment washes over me. With training and everything that goes on in my frantic life, it's not often that I get to just breathe. It's soothing.

Time to go. I walk down the steps and lead the way out the door. We live a considerable distance from the Town Square and the walk there gives me time to think. I'm only 16. That's two years younger than is customary for Volunteers. But I really am ready. These past few weeks at the Academy, I've just been going through the motions because the dummies and moving targets don't present a challenge for me anymore. Plus with my long blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, charming features and up-beat confidence, I'm sure to get sponsors. Waiting another two years will do nothing but make me bored.

When I get to the table, there's the same lady that's been sitting there every year since I can remember. "Name?" she asks me. I tell her and hold out my hand for the blood ID. The prick that used to scare me so much when I was small barely registers in my mind.

I move on to the roped-off areas. Hmm, guys on one side, girls on the other. Oldest in the front, youngest in the back. That would put me in… the third row from the front on the left side. I take my place and stand quietly while I wait for the ceremony to start.

After what seems like hours, our escort, Eustacia Rollo, makes her way onto the stage. I tense with anticipation until I realize that for another ten, fifteen minutes it's still nothing but a speech.

"Greetings, everyone! It's almost time for District Two's Reaping! But first, we have the Treaty of the Treason, brought to you by our wonderful mayor!" she hands him the microphone.

"Thank you, everyone. Now, let's begin…"

I tune him out. The speech has been recited so many times, studied and broken apart in school; it makes my brain feel fatigued listening to just one line of it. Usually, I just count the acne on the other eligible teens until he finishes. This time, however, it seems like he's done within five minutes.

"And now, it's time to decide our Tributes for the 224th Annual Hunger Games!" booms Eustacia.

I glance around at the possible Tributes. Any one of them could be my district partner. She hasn't even gotten to the name when a tall guy with a face like a pile of bricks and close cropped dark brown hair steps up and grins to the crowd. It's obvious he knows how to get sponsors.

"Very nice, very nice! Now, our female Tribute from District Two is Trixie Galloway!"

"I volunteer!" I shout to be heard over the applause.

I walk up to the stage and arrange my face into a cocky smirk, arms crossed. Two can play his little game.

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**Hi everyone! Again, sorry for such a delay in updates. How do you like the District Two tributes? Feelings on the outcome so far? Read and respond!**

**-hp0123**


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